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Hi Everyone. This is my newest story, a Thunderbirds one-shot based on the 1960’s original series. I write Jeff Tracy from the early days much as I see John Winchester: a grieving man trying to help his boys and having no idea that the only thing they really need is him. But he really does have good intentions.
The brothers are aged as follows (pretty much made up for the purposes of this story), with the boys following the ages as per most of the information found on (http: // www .ticipedia. info/canon-foundry/the-characters/tracy-sons-birth-order /). Take out the spaces to access the link 😊
Scott: 16:
Virgil 13
John: 11
Gordon: 6
Alan: 3
Scott Tracy woke much like toast popping from a toaster, slowly, then all at once. Blinking slowly, he took a second to figure out what exactly it was that had awoken him. Muffled cries from down the hall answered the question and within seconds he was out of his room, down the hall and into the room shared by Gordon and Alan.
The cries of the older boy from his loft had woken the younger in his crib and Scott was faced with the wails of a tired three-year-old and the terrified hiccups of a six-year-old ripped from dreams of his dead mother. Thinking quickly, Scott moved towards the red-head, knowing Alan wouldn’t quiet until his brother had. He scaled the ladder to the loft, sitting beside his brother and pulling him close.
“Alright Gordo, none of that. It’s alright bud, just a dream, just a dream mate.” The tears dried slowly, shaking tapering off shortly after until Gordon was a hot, exhausted lump at Scott’s side. He settled the boy back against his pillows, leaning in to smooth back his hair when the soft sound of a half-asleep voice reached him.
“Wasn’t a dream Scotty, ‘twas real. She’s gone.”
Scott couldn’t tell him otherwise.
It took an hour to rock the youngest back to sleep, another four before he’d soothed the nightmares of his two other brothers. He hadn’t gotten to bed until past eleven as it was, and after the nightmares, it was 5:30 by the time Scott slipped back to bed to soak up the last half hour of sleep. He closed his eyes and tried to forget about the day he would soon need to face.
Jeff Tracy hadn’t been home in three days due to his latest business deal, and the toll of playing parent was taking was toll on the sixteen-year old. By sixth period calculus that afternoon, Scott was close to nodding off. By seventh period PE, he was dead on his feet. The orders of Mark Kilmann, the no-nonsense PE teacher that had been the dictator of the track and field team for nearing thirty years, were fuzzy in his ears.
“Listen up. Second half of the Presidential Fitness Test today. Strength was last lesson; the mile is today. I want everyone in their gear in the next five minutes and out on the track.” The boys nodded in affirmation before traipsing towards the change rooms. The gravelly voice barked a final order.
“Tracy, stay back.”
Scott Tracy looked exhausted.
Scratch that, he looked dead.
Of all the students Mark had taught over his career, the oldest Tracy was without a doubt the most polite, mature student he’d ever come across. That with his incredible athletic aptitude had quickly secured him a place amongst Mark’s favourites. But since his mother had died, he’d slowly sunk into himself, the strong young man Mark knew becoming a scared, exhausted boy.
Mark had watched him slowly break his impeccable attendance record, showing up late with a muttered excuse about his brothers increasingly often. He wasn’t rude but sharp, no longer engaging in banter with his classmates. His face got more gaunt and his eyes emptier.
The youth approached him when called, head bowed. It was a sure cry from the confident posture he used to display.
“Tracy, you aren’t looking so good. Sure you’re alright to run? You’ve been on the track team, so I can pass you without the mile.” He neglected to mention that Scott hadn’t been to a single meet or practice in more than a month.
Scott looked up, sleep deprivation written on every inch of his stark white face, eyes ringed as if he’d gone ten rounds with someone he couldn’t beat. “Fine, thank you sir. I’ll go get changed and see you on the track.”
The student, once a jokester, turned away quietly, trudging to the change rooms. He heaved out a breath as Scoot retreated. He’d tried.
When Mark checked his watch and they were just over five minutes into the mile, he began to worry. Scott Tracy solidly a 4:45, sometimes faster and rarely slower. When five-thirty ticked over and Joshua, his second fast came in, he knew something was wrong. He opened his mouth to ask the boy when a dark headed figure came around the corner, form shot to hell and chest heaving. Mark checked the time. Six-oh-one. He clapped Joshua on the back, moving to the oldest Tracy.
Scott looked worse than before; white had turned to ash grey, he was sweating, and normally clear eyes had clouded over. He gently rested a hand on Scott’s back.
“Head to the nurse bud. I’ll get someone to call your father. You aren’t in any shape to get your brothers.” Scott went from hazy to alert within seconds, eyes wide and clear.
“The concern’s unnecessary sir. I’m a bit out of shape is all.” He straightened up. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get changed. I will be picking up my brother’s tonight.” Not rude. Scott Tracy was never rude. Sharp.
He stormed off. It would have had a lot more impact if he hadn’t still been stumbling.
As the last of the boys came in then trickled out for the day, Mark headed to his office, straight to the phone. It took only a minute to find Jeff Tracy’s number, seconds longer to dial and then another for the patriarch to pick up.
“Tracy.”
“Hi Mr Tracy. It’s Mark Kilmann, I’m Scott’s physical education teacher.”
“Ah, Mr Kilmann, yes, I remember, we met at track a few years ago. What can I do for you?”
“It’s about Scott, Mr Tracy, he’s appearing overworked, exhausted, even. I’ve just got some concerns I wanted to discuss with you.”
“Mr Kilmann, thank you for your concern, but Scott is just adjusting to-” the man paused and Mark remembered that not only had Scott lost his mother, this man had lost his wife. “He’s adjusting to some things.”
“Mr Tracy, I agree Scott must be having a hard time, but the fact is your son seems to be close to putting his health in danger if he doesn’t start getting some proper rest.”
“Kilmann, my family is my responsibility. Scott is strong and he’s responsible. He’d tell me if he needed something but for now he hasn’t, so I’d appreciate if you do your job and leave me to do mine. Good Day.”
The sound of the dial tone filled the office.
Scott’s first stop was Alan’s pre-school. The youngster couldn’t be left there past four thirty, and it took everything Scott had to get there on time. He pushed open the door, hearing the dull roar of chattering parents and excited toddlers. He scanned the room, pushing the fatigue from his face and allowing his big-brother smile to slide in; above all else, his brothers needed him to be strong.
“‘cotty!” The lisping sound of his youngest brother had Scott turning on the spot, fake smiling broadening with genuine warmth, and he opened his has arms just as the blonde jumped into them. The traces of Alan’s disturbed sleep were barely-existent on his bubbly face, but a day of pre-school was taking its toll and even as the toddler babbled into Scott’s ear the words were getting further apart as he began to fall asleep. Scott nodded towards Alan’s teacher, and headed out. One down, three to go.
Gordon’s elementary school was a short walk from the pre-school, but as he did everyday bar Tuesday’s, he had swim practice, a longer walk in the opposite direction (Gordon got a bus with the rest of the team, but there wasn’t one that would get Scott back there without being late). He settled Alan on his shoulder and began the walk.
An hour later Gordon’s pick-up went as smoothly as Alan’s. The red-head reluctantly left the pool, but once he started walking, his tight grip on Scott’s hand and constant chatter showed Scott he was just as happy out of the water as in. By the time they had made the trek back to John and Virgil’s middle school, Alan was a dead weight on his hip and even Gordon was beginning to flag. John and Virgil were waiting patiently by a tree, both engrossed in the latest books that had happened to pique their interest.
“Virg, Johnny, time to get going.”
All five together, they headed slowly towards home.
All the boys bar Scott were in bed when Jeff Tracy arrived home. He saw his oldest at the kitchen table, books spread in front of him. His face was plastered to the pages of a calculus textbook, back rising and falling slowly in sleep. Jeff felt anger bubble. No wonder teachers were calling him; Scott clearly couldn’t be responsible enough to get to bed at a reasonable hour. He pulled the book from under Scott’s head, the teen startling awake.
“Father?” He blinked the sleep from his eyes.
“Scott Tracy what is wrong with you? I ask you to do a few things; take care of your brothers, go to school, that’s it! Yet I’m getting calls from your school that you aren’t keeping up, that you’re tired. Maybe you wouldn’t be so tired if you went to bed at a reasonable hour!”
“Father I-”
“I don’t want to hear it Scott. I spend my days working hard, making money so this family can live a good life and you can’t do the simple things I ask of you! And I don’t ask much! But I find you here, asleep because you clearly wasted too much time today to get your work done at a reasonable hour.”
Scott felt his own anger rise. Who the hell was Jeff Tracy to tell him how hard he had or hadn’t been working when he hadn’t been home to see it?
“We don’t need money, father! We need you! I have been working hard but I can’t do it all without you! Alan barely remembers you. Gordon thinks you aren’t proud of him. John and Virgil miss you, the you from before!”
“That me is gone! They don’t need me to be proud of the or care for them or remember them, they have you for that!”
Scott whirled around, spittle flying from his mouth, face red, anger flaring. “What about me! I need you! I can’t do this by myself and I need you! They don’t want me, they don’t need me. They need their father. I need my father!” The two stood, face to face, chests heaving in silence. Silence that was broken by the ringing of Jeff’s mobile. Scott scoffed, headed towards the stairs. Their shouts hadn’t yet woken his brothers but the nightmares soon would and he needed to be where his father wouldn’t.
“Scott-”
“Forget about it, just answer. We both know whoever is on the other end is more important than anything here.”
Jeff was gone once more when Scott dragged himself out of bed the next morning. The household was subdued; he hadn’t the energy for a vibrant front after the night before. They were nearly out of milk, he noted, as he poured the boy’s cereal. They’d need to stop on the way home. He rushed through the rest of the morning routine, locked the door. He settled Alan on his back, held Gordon’s hand. Another day.
Seventh-period PE was the last thing Scott needed. The day had dragged from start to finish and the icing on the cakee had been Kilmann announcing the boxing class they would be doing. He’d been paired up with Joshua; the boys had been close friends from a young age, but since his mother’s death, they had grown apart. The sparring wasn’t going well. Scott could feel his reflexes slowing, each hit harder to doge. A hit came towards his head, slow, too slow for it to be meant to meet its mark. But the message from his brain to duck goddamnit! was sluggish and he felt it make contact with his temple. Lights exploded in his eyes and he felt the dull thunk of his knees as they hit the gym floor. His eyes fluttered and his brain seemed to think that meant it was time to sleep because he couldn’t stop himself from falling the rest of the way to the floor and slipping away entirely.
Mark had been watching the sparring session with decreasing focus on most of the class. He kept getting drawn to a solitary pair. Joshua was a fair fighter, but he usually had nothing on Scott.
Usually.
Mark watched as the hits grew closer to making contact with Scott’s head. He saw the final hit coming, starting to cross the room when he knew it would make contact. The smack echoed around the room, causing the class to freeze. They had been practicing weaving, the hits were meant to be set to be dodged, none should have made contact. What Mark was really not expecting was for Tracy to go down. The boy’s legs buckled, the hit apparently the last blow to an exhausted figure. Scott fell in slow motion, knees bending, torso crumping and landing on the hardwood floor with a bang. Neither Mark or Joshua were fast enough to catch him. The crash of Scott hitting the floor was louder than the smack of glove on face. Mark was on his knees a second later, feeling a strong if slightly fast pulse at the teenager’s neck. He looked up.
“Joshua, stay here. Tom, Stephen, go get the nurse. Everyone else clear out.”
The students rushed to follow his directions.
“Sir I swear, I pulled the punch as soon as I realised it was going to hit. I didn’t mean to-”
“Calm down. I know. He was going to go whether you hit him or not.” He reached down, patting the pale cheek.
“Come on Scott, wake up. Wake up for me bud.” The teen didn’t move and after several minutes of the same routine, the nurse rushed in.
“Scott Tracy. Passed out, took a small hit to the head but I’d bet on the cause of collapse actually being exhaustion.”
“Alright.” She took Mark’s spot, taking Scott’s pulse and repeating his earlier request for the boy to wake up.
“Help me get him into the recovery position.” Together they rolled him, positioning him on his side.
“How long has he been out?”
Mark checked his watch. “Just gone five minutes.”
“Alright, I’m going to call the paramedics. I don’t like his pulse and,” she pinched Scott’s hand, “See how the skin’s not bouncing back? I’d say he’s dehydrated too. Just to be safe, I’m going to call it in. Stay here, see if you can’t get him to come ‘round. Joshua, come with me please.” She hurried towards the office and once more, Mark was alone with the unconscious pupil.
Three minutes or thereabouts past before finally, Scott showed signs of waking. Mark gripped the boy’s hand. “Scott, can you hear me?”
Lashes fluttered against pale cheeks and slowly, his eyes opened. Garbled words escaped his mouth.
“Sorry Scott, what was that?”
A small tongue darted out, licking dry lips. “Dad?”
Mark sighed. “Sorry bud. It’s Mr Kilmann. You’re at school but you’ll see your Dad real soon, okay?”
Scott’s breath puffed out; eyes fluttered closed with resignation. The ambulance approached, but he didn’t wake.
Mark paced outside the ER, waiting to be put through to Jeff Tracy. On the fifth attempt a tone sounded, and at last, he was connected.
“Tracy.”
“Mr Tracy, it’s Mark Kilmann again, from Scott’s-”
“Yes Mr Kilmann, I remember you. I’m very busy and I don’t need you wasting my time, meddling in something that isn’t yours to meddle in.”
“Mr Tracy, if you would let me finish, I was going to tell you I’m calling from St. Charles General. Scott collapsed in my class today and was brought in for severe exhaustion and dehydration.”
There was silence on the other end of the line for a second and Mark tried not to feel vindicated when there was a boy lying in a hospital bed.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Fifteen minutes later, Jeff Tracy stumbled into the waiting room. The man in front of him was a shadow of the one Mark had met years before. His face was a shade similar to Scott’s own, and like his son he’d lost weight and his eyes were dull. He was the picture of a man who had just lost his wife, one who was trying to raise his sons and failing miserably.
“Mr Tracy, I wish I was seeing you under better circumstances.”
“Jeff, please. And me too. I’m sorry about the other day. And today, I guess. It’s been a bit of a rough week.” He slumped into the chair beside Mark, deflating. “Rough year, really.”
“Jeff, you don’t need to apologise for having a hard time. Just, accept help when it comes your way, yeah?”
Jeff sighed, slumping further into his chair and Mark was struck by the fact that one of the most important men in the business world was currently slumped next to him and yet all he could see was an exhausted father, a grieving widower.
“He’s the strong one, you know? He takes care of the boys, I don’t even need to be there. It’s easier to leave them alone because, god, they’re all just like her. Virgil has her hair, her face. Alan doesn’t even remember her, but he has her laugh and Gordon has her infectious love for life. John has her adventurous side, her wit. And Scott, god Scott has her eyes and her smile and her love, her strength and looking after them is like being with her and its just so, so painful. It’s easier to let Scott look after them, and pretend it’s still her.” Jeff dropped his head into his hands. “I miss her so much and can’t imagine losing any of them but I’m beginning to think that maybe I already have.”
Mark took a breath, about to reply, when a white-coated man materialised in front of them.
“Tracy?” Jeff stood immediately. “Scott’s going to be fine. We’ll keep him overnight to get his electrolytes balanced and rehydrate him; we’ll also monitor his sleep to make sure there’s nothing more than simple exhaustion going on.”
“Can I see him?”
The doctor smiled. “Of course, he’s awake at the moment but we’ll want him to be getting some rest in the next hour or so.”
Jeff reached out, shaking the man’s hand. “Thank you so much.” He turned to Mark. “Are you coming through?”
He faltered. “I shouldn’t, you need time with your son.”
“I think he’d really like it.”
Mark smiled. “Lead the way.”
Scott Tracy looked marginally better than the last time Mark had seen him. It wasn’t saying much, the last time he’d seen him, being wheeled out of an ambulance, he’d been semi-conscious and more like a corpse than a young man. This time, he was half awake; semi-reclined with half-hooded eyes. Mark waited back at the door while Jeff walked in.
The older man slowly approached the bed, and it was testament to Scott’s exhaustion that he didn’t move.
“Scooter? How you doing there bud?”
Scott startled, looking up. “Dad?” Mark could see the heartbreak in Jeff’s eyes at Scott’s dry croak.
“Yeah bud.” Jeff sat at the bedside, running a hand through Scott’s hair. “Heard you’re not feeling so hot right now.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get sick, I just-”
“Scott Tracy you listen to me. This is my fault and no one else’s.”
“But if I had-”
“Scott, I should not have made you take care of your brothers. That is my job, not yours. When I got the call today I was so scared son. I want you to get some sleep, get better, and I promise that when you wake up and we go home, everything is going to be so much better.”
Scott didn’t reply, simply leaned into Jeff’s hand on his forehead. His eyes slipped closed.
Scott was asleep. Alan was tucked under one arm, Gordon curled up near the other. John lay slumped over, head by his oldest brother’s feet. Virgil had passed out on the couch, curled under Scott’s bomber Jacket, and was unconsciously clenching and unclenching the garment in his sleep. Jeff looked over to the balding teacher who had collected the other boys from their schools, then stayed with the family as they’d settled in for the night.
“I really screwed up, didn’t I.” He ran a knuckle down Scott’s face, brushing a stray hair from his eye. His boy was thin. Exhausted even while resting. In sleep, Jeff could see the little boy who had come to him with loose teeth and scraped knees, who had carried insects from the house in cupped hands and cuddled into his side for stories.
“Yeah,” Mark said, voice low so as not to wake the slumbering boys. “You did. But Scott’ll forgive you. He’s a good kid.”
Jeff sighed, looking around the room once more, eyes settling on the young boy he’d made old too fast.
“Yeah. He is, isn’t he.”